An angel looked dismayed as they were walking by,
In the morning light reflected off of pools of blood collecting flys,
Buzzards, vultures, coyotes, and the occasional hyena.
No longer to delay,
Awake another blood-filled day,
Out of the sea; the five heads of the beast were screaming.
No one asked for the heroes,
And thought of them as zeros
While they were fighting the beast that didn’t need exterminating.
Morning came again with the red tide.
So many fallen that should not have died,
From ignorance alone,
The beast called the sea his home.
And so will many more after this reading.
Cheers to the callous fools who have no feeling.
I do not often see red tide retreating.
Posted in Musing
Tagged angel, beast, die, fallen, hero, home, light, morning, poem, poetry, pool, red, reflect, retreat, sea, tide
Where the lights that go before us tred,
In darker days their absence led.
A flame out too soon, not quite begun,
When one cannot see their first setting sun,
Where the reaper concedes to angels
To ferry this small soul.
In lifes webs many tangles,
There’s one strand so bitter, and beautiful to behold.
Dedicated to the daughter of my friends Kendra and Jurian. May she rest in peace.
A single tear from her soul only
Comes softly with the words “Just hold me”.
That cold summer, drifting, lonely.
I don’t remember what it was that came before.
Preceeding the darkened night,
Being a requiem to a hopeful twilight,
An angels song; a bewitching blight,
Does nothing to lift her from the floor.
There is a silence after her song.
There is the light before the dawn!
There is the hope that she’s forgotten!
These are the dreams that once were trodden.
She survives because she endures.
Now of one thing she’s sure:
Her hopes and dreams are worth the gain,
Worth the work, and all the pain.
She sees darkness itself is to blame,
Her souls tear, an angels song, the same.
A suicide of angels.
One would from this angle
Wish their eyes were deceiving,
untrustworthy little orbs.
Their ears fearfully confirming
What their eyes see as burning,
But still what their brains cannot absorb.
All the while he is smiling
The one who, from afar, beguiling
Their denial into crying,
Terrifying panic, and insane rancor.
Oh! For the angels that should not have died before!
Then his smile betrays a clue.
This suicide of angels cannot be true!
What horror has been left for me and you?
The damage is done and he knows it.
Perhaps a wound impermanent, but who can close it?
Surely father time has no such tourniquet.
Now there is work to be done, stitches to sew.
What does the future hold? Who can know?
Once healed, these scars will follow us so,
We must do our best,
And learn to let go.
A note on the art:
I found this painting while browsing Tumblr, and could find no link to the artist. If you know the original artist please post a name or link in the comments below so that I may contact him/her to properly request permission for using their piece in my blog. Thank you. 🙂
Posted in Life (or something like it)
Tagged angel, brain, eye, Future, heal, horror, panic, poetry, rancor, scar, wound